


Rule #2

by Josies



Series: No Saints Without Sinners [15]
Category: Saints Row
Genre: Alcohol, Blow Jobs, Body Shots, Drugs, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Hand Jobs, Hot Tub Sex, Limousine Sex, Multiple Orgasms, Pole Dancing, Saints Row 2 - Freeform, Semi-Public Sex, Sexual Tension, Spanking, Stripping, Teasing, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-30
Updated: 2019-06-21
Packaged: 2019-07-04 18:41:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15847098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Josies/pseuds/Josies
Summary: Another birthday party, another rule.





	1. Is it still me that makes you sweat?

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sequel to **Rule #1!** It's filled with awful jokes, drunken flirting, bad roleplaying and hot smut! Last time I lied about how many chapters there'd be like the embarrassing excuse of a human being I am, so I'll just say I'm not sure this time. I'm dedicating this to my Christian friend who has to take pauses reading my explicit smut and put up with my messages about writing it while she sits at church. Everyone should pray for her. Anyway, I'm having fun writing this and I hope you have fun reading it!
> 
> (If you don't feel comfortable reading about graphic sex and/or the themes presented in the tags, please skip this fic! Thank you.)

 

* * *

**November 2009**

* * *

 

"So, what do you think?" Shaundi asks, barely able to contain her excitement, slightly bouncing on her feet.

"It's... really somethin'," Doris says, nodding slowly. She's truly speechless as she's never seen another one like it.

"I think it's beautiful," Marina says.

"What—" Pierce tackles with his words, holding his head between his hands, "what the hell is _that_?"

"It's a bong, silly!" Shaundi chirps, immensely proud of the undeniably phallus-like glass bong standing on a coffee table in front of them. It's pink and carefully decorated with shiny gemstones. It's horrifyingly graphic, and still, it's marvelous.

Pierce stares at her in disbelief. "What happened to the—we were supposed to get her a necklace!"

"Yeah, I know, but I saw this gorgeous thing and Boss loves dick, so I thought—"

"Yo, girl! You can't just say that!"

"I mean, she ain't wrong," Doris says with a shrug of her shoulders. In this case, it's really the thought that counts.

"And did you really call that thing gorgeous? What's wrong with you?" Pierce asks, ignoring their leader in his growing appal.

"What's wrong with me?" Shaundi huffs. She's getting slightly annoyed over how little appreciation Pierce is showing toward the perfect present she found for Doris. "What's wrong with _you_?"

"I can't trust you with anythin'!"

Doris sighs behind her coconut drink, which is topped off with a straw and a tiny, colorful umbrella. "Guys, please—"

"You told me to go shopping by myself!" Shaundi snaps.

"'Cause you said you could handle it!" Pierce yells back with his hands up.

"And I did!"

"What the fuck's that?" Johnny asks as he drops down on the couch next to Doris with a beer in his hand. He feels weird wearing only a pair of swimming trunks, but since everyone else is wearing just as little clothing, he can live like that for one night. Doris loves hot, tropical weather. She wanted to fly to South America, or Asia, to celebrate her birthday, but even though the rival gangs have been wiped out, they're still facing Ultor, or Dane Vogel, to be precise. She couldn't leave Stilwater, so she had to settle for a beach themed party in the biggest, fanciest penthouse suite the city's hotels had to offer.

"It's a bong," Doris says, still staring at the masterpiece standing in front of them on the table, "Shaundi and Pierce got it for me."

"I didn't get that for you!" Pierce protests.

"Come on, man," she says. "It's so fuckin' tacky I gotta love it."

"See?" Shaundi asks, beaming. "I knew she would."

Pierce scoffs. "My idea was still better."

"You're a really sore loser."

"I ain't lost shit!"

"Then how come I won? Again?"

"Okay, you two," Doris says in a raised voice, pointing at them both. "Go fight somewhere else, you're givin' mamí a headache."

"Happy birthday," Shaundi says as she leans down to press a quick kiss on Doris' cheek and heads out of the living room. "We love you, mamí!"

"Thank you, sweetie."

"Bitch, you owe me fifteen grand!" Pierce yells as he rushes after Shaundi, too busy to collect his money back to note on how wrong it is of them to call Doris 'mamí.' He simply refuses to ever get the joke and they continue to find it amusing exactly because of that.

Shaundi grabs decorative pillows and throws them on the floor to slow Pierce down. "Nuh-uh!"

Doris watches them disappear downstairs, frowning a little. "Jesus, I really hope they didn't spend thirty grand on that," she says with a sigh.

"You're gonna have to cut down on their allowance," Johnny says.

"I know. And here I thought they were old enough."

"Do you want me to carve it out of them?" Marina asks. She's not exactly an official member of the Saints, but whenever Doris needs to pull information out of someone, or when she just needs a rival tortured, her Russian friend's the one she calls. Her skills are very effective and, therefore, useful.

Doris glances at her. "You mean how much the bong cost?"

"Yes."

"I'm pretty sure you could just, you know, ask."

"It's okay, I have used my tactics on Pierce before," Marina says in a cheery, slightly terrifying voice as she jumps up and heads downstairs, too. "I try to be gentle!"

Johnny turns to Doris. "What exactly has she done to Pierce?"

"Well, I've never asked her to do anythin' to Pierce and he's never mentioned it, so, uh, I'm kinda scared to ask."

"Understandable," Johnny says with a short nod, fully aware of how enthusiastic Marina is about finding reasons to torture people. He likes her. "You know, you could also use that bong as a—"

She shoots him a glare. "Don't say it."

He grins, refraining from commenting on how he'd love to watch her sit on it, taking a sip of his beer, instead. "Felipe couldn't make it?" He asks.

"No," she says as she pouts, "he won't be back 'til tomorrow morning."

"Good," he says, quickly continuing with, "I mean, he woulda died seein' you holdin' that thing."

"Yeah," she giggles, "that woulda been funny."

"You're gonna show it to him later, aren't you?"

"What kinda sister would I be if I didn't?"

He chuckles into his bottle. "You never give him a break."

"He's the one missin' my birthday," she says, pouting again. "It's the most important day of the year, like, how dare he?"

"Right, Saint Doe's day," he says, nodding, humoring her by playing along. He reaches down behind the armrest to pick up a black gift bag he left waiting on the floor. "Here's my offerin'."

"You didn't have to get me anythin'," she says with a coy smile as he hands her the bag, even though she's already excited to see what's inside, as the bag itself looks pricey. Johnny's presents are known to be more practical than anything.

"We both know you woulda moped around for days if I didn't. Probably weeks."

"I ain't that spoiled."

Johnny just snorts in amusement. She ignores him as she tears off the tape holding the bag shut. She peeks inside, spots black fabric, and she looks up at him. "If you got me lingerie, I will make you wear it," she says.

His eyebrows rise. "Well, now I kinda regret not gettin' you a pretty pair of panties."

"Shame. Woulda loved seeing you in lacy underwear," she says with a teasing grin before she pulls her present out of the bag.

"The night's still young."

"Wait, is this—"

"Yep."

She stares at the dress in her hands, once again speechless, but for whole other reasons this time. It's short and black and exactly like the one she bought for herself three years back. The one she wore at her last birthday party. She's done her best to forget that night for her own sanity. "Well, color me fuckin' impressed," she says, hiding whatever feelings the dress has her going through. "How did you get your hands on this?"

"You kiddin' me?" He asks, downplaying how hard it was to find a dress from a three-year old collection and how many people he wanted to kill over it. "You rambled about the damn dress for weeks. Every fuckin' detail about it is stuck in my brain forever."

"Yeah, and then you ruined it," she says with a pout. Johnny tore off the shoulder straps of her expensive, designer dress, instead of undressing her like a normal, reasonable person. For his luck, he turned out to be great in bed, and after coming three times, she was willing to let it go.

"Sayin' that like you didn't enjoy it."

"Then why'd you get me a new one? You wanna tear this one apart, too?"

"Maybe."

She sucks her lower lip in as she stares at his profile. She hasn't heard the tone of his voice drop so low in a long, long time, not until now, and it throws her off guard. Is he slowly getting back to casually flirting with her, like they used to, or did he just implicitly tell her he wants to sleep with her tonight?

Johnny concentrates on his beer and she turns her attention back to the dress. She folds it neatly and puts it back into the gift bag. Later, when they're both drunk enough, she could just drop a simple 'you wanna fuck?' and get it over with, but since she sees no fun in that, she's already coming up with a bunch of mischievous ways to torture him that night.

In addition to the two-floor penthouse suite Doris paid for, she also rented out the hotel's large spa downstairs and the night club above it. She invited all of their associates to the club, even pulling something as brave as trusting the Colombians and the Mexicans in the same club. At worst, they would put up a good, violent show slaughtering each other, but so far they've all behaved. Free drinks, drugs and strippers do wonders. She uses the opportunity to inform everyone about the death of the Brotherhood's leader, what steps they're taking against Ultor, and how their businesses will be affected once the Saints have finished taken over the city.

Johnny watches her from the bar counter, like he always does, just not in the usual way. She's wearing the dress he gave her over her bikini and, once again, she looks gorgeous in it, and he does want to tear it off her. There's a woman sitting next to him, trying to have his attention by babbling on about how she's related to some big-shot celebrity, unaware his interests lie in completely something else. He knows Doris well enough to know she's going to have sex with someone tonight, and the drunker he gets, the more assured he feels that someone might as well be him. He hasn't slept with anyone since Aisha and it's about time for him to do something about it. He's too tense to even enjoy a good killing lately. He can't live like that.

Doris can feel Johnny's eyes on her, burning a hole through the dress. She plays the ignoring game for a while, but as she grows tired of it, she turns to glance at him and moves one leg over the other, making sure the hem of her dress drops down to fully reveal her tattooed thigh, and even though he just saw her in a bikini no more than thirty minutes ago, it still has the effect on him she was looking for. The hand holding his glass stops midway up for a second and she purses her lips into a knowing smile, turning her attention back to the people in the booth she sits in. Johnny finishes his drink in one go and he can't hear what the woman next to him says.

After socializing with her guests in the club and having made sure everyone's happy with their drinks, and the possible stripper on their lap, Doris takes her leave to return to the penthouse. Johnny abandons his drink and the persistent woman still trying to strike up a conversation with him, ignoring whatever she yells after him, as he couldn't care less. He touches the small of Doris' back with his hand as they step into the elevator. It only lasts for a few seconds, but it's enough to have shivers run through her whole body. She sighs inaudibly. There are other people in the elevator. She plays with the idea of slamming her hand on a button to stop the elevator and dropping down to her knees in front of him, while pulling his swimming trunks with her. Or, alternatively, forcing him down on his knees. She giggles quietly to herself thinking about how he would grumble about his bad knee. The other guests get off the elevator after a few floors, leaving Doris and Johnny alone. They don't talk. The silence between them that moment, and their expectations of the other possibly initiating something before the doors open again, is much more arousing than anything either of them could say.

The party doesn't lack entertainment. Hotel employees roll a cake in on a serving cart. It's large enough to feed all the guests, but still not large enough to realistically fit a human being inside it, so when a stripper emerges out of it, Doris is astonished to the point she has trouble concentrating on the show that follows, as she's dying to find out how she did it. She claims she's never had a stripper pop out of a cake and that it's her favorite thing that night. The stripper's also wearing edible underwear, made of hard candy, which keeps her occupied for a while. She ends up tipping the stripper a few thousand dollars when it's time for her to leave.

"A guy just tried hittin' on me with the worst fuckin' joke," Doris huffs later as she storms out into one of the suite's balconies, where Johnny, Pierce and Marina are smoking. They're wearing bathrobes to fight the cold, which Doris didn't think of in her frustrated rage. The cold hits her like a bucket of ice and, since the alcohol in her blood isn't enough to keep her warm on its own, she quickly drops down on a couch next to Johnny, to try and fit herself into the bathrobe he's wearing. As small as she is, it doesn't work out as she'd hoped.

Johnny frowns at her, but he still wraps his arm around her shoulders, and she clutches herself to his side. He's used to her stealing his warmth, as she's never wearing enough clothes, and it's the perfect excuse for her to touch him, now, to continue what happened in the elevator. She places her hand on his stomach and his muscles flex under her touch. The light shock of pleasure the tips of her nails running over his abs creates shoots all the way down to his feet. She wants to slide her hand down into his swimming trunks, wrap her fingers around him and stroke him off like she did last time.

"What was the joke?" Pierce asks.

She sighs. "Do I have to repeat it?"

"Yes," Marina says.

Doris snatches the cigarette burning between Johnny's lips, proceeding to take a long drag. There's lipstick on the cigarette when she sticks it back between Johnny's lips. "What does a farmer and a pimp have in common?" She sounds and looks painfully done.

"I don't know."

"Both need a hoe to start their business."

"The audacity, man," Pierce says, laughing and shaking his head, as the joke's so bad it's actually pretty funny.

"Yo, you killed him, right?" Johnny asks.

"No, I just walked away, like," she pauses, flipping her hair dramatically, "did he _really_ believe he had an actual chance there? Did he think I'd bend over for him out of, what, pity?"

Johnny snorts. If anyone's going to make her bend over tonight, it's him. "Have I ever told you my best pick-up line?"

"Do I even wanna hear it?" She asks as she purses her lips at him, looking very doubtful.

"Well, it can't be any worse," Pierce comments.

"A'ight, fine," Doris sighs, readying herself, "hit me."

Johnny puts his beer away and pulls her in closer. "What're your favorite flowers, baby-girl? I just need to know which ones to put on your coffin after I fuck you to death."

Marina bursts out into a loud fit of drunken giggles, nearly falling off her chair, while Doris closes her eyes and mutters to herself quietly in Spanish. She covers her face with her hands and Johnny just grins wide.

"Yeah, okay, I take back what I just said," Pierce says. "Why would you _ever_ say that to another human being, never mind someone you tryna hit on?"

"Yo, don't tell me it ain't the best you ever heard," Johnny says.

"Man, I can't even begin the thinkin' process on how to explain to you how bad exactly that verbal assault you call a pick-up line is."

"For your information, it's served me well."

"Yeah? You been hittin' on blind people who can't read lips?"

"I agree with Gat," Marina says, to no one's surprise, really, "it is good. Very straightforward, yet polite and thoughtful."

"Are you fuckin' serious?" Pierce asks her, sounding almost offended.

Doris has to get up and walk back inside, leaving them to argue, as she can't even look at Johnny in fear of stripping out of her bikini and telling him to fuck her right away. If anyone ever said that line to her in means of hitting on her, she would cut their tongue off, which has her feeling even more ashamed of how Johnny saying it has her thighs quivering in nearly uncontrollable lust, even making it difficult for her to walk. The way back inside is a walk of shame for her.

To get over her shame, Doris flirts with _everyone_ , or that's how she makes Johnny feel over the hours, as he loyally follows her around. He wants to keep an eye on her, because the guest list is long, and with people going in and out of the penthouse, there's potential for just about anyone to sneak in, or that's what he tells himself. She flirts with bartenders, strippers, her friends with benefits, random people in the hallways, men, women, anything that speaks and has a heartbeat. She flirts with the DJ on his break. She hired him to play through the night, some jackass whose name Johnny couldn't care less about, but she's literally staring at Johnny the whole time, chewing on the tip of a swizzle stick and occasionally rolling her tongue around it, smiling at him, clearly testing his limits for her own amusement. It's not subtle at all.

A little later, all that flirting leads to body shots. Doris announces that everyone's free to try and beat her at shots. Shaundi offers to be her shot glass. As all the guests are already wearing very little clothing, things escalate quickly into people sitting and lying all over the long bar counter, doing shots off each other. Doris beats three people competing over who downs more shots in thirty seconds, with Shaundi cheering her on, until the hired bartenders have to go down to the club for replenishments, as they run out of liquids people want to pour on each other.

Doris pushes a half-passed out guy off the counter as she decides to walk her way to where Johnny's sitting. She balances herself on the counter with a half-full bottle of tequila in one hand and a lollipop in the other. She kicks a bowl of chips out of the way and giggles as she almost loses her balance. She feels fuzzy from the great number of shots she did too fast. Johnny watches her, wondering if she manages to fall off and split her head open, before she makes it to the other end. He moves his drink out of the way and grabs her hand to help her keep her balance as she sits down in front of him. She sticks the lollipop into her mouth and lifts her sunglasses off her face.

"What are you doing here, sulkin' all by yourself?" She asks in a voice that mostly resembles the one she uses when she talks to her dog.

"I ain't sulkin'," he says.

"Oh, right," she grabs a hold of his chin, pursing her lips as a drunken giggle escapes them, "that's just your face."

He can smell her favorite fragrance on her wrist. It's soft and sweet, and it becomes twice as tempting when he's drunk. "Did you enjoy your human lollipop?" He asks.

"That was your idea?"

"Well, Shaundi came up with the cake and I added the outfit."

"Of course you did." She tilts her head to the side, running her long fake nails on the stubble under his chin a short way, before dropping her hand down. "You wanna use me as a shot glass?" She asks, leaning in a little to push her chest closer to his face.

"Not really," he says. He can come up with several other things he'd rather use her for.

"Come on," she says, her voice turning demanding, "use me."

"I don't like tequila." It's the best excuse he can come up with. At this point, if he starts licking salt off her, he can't promise himself not to pin her down on the counter and take her right there, in front of people.

"Suppose you don't like lickin' me either, then?" She asks in a lower voice after popping the lollipop loudly out of her mouth.

He stares at her. It's one thing to show him some skin from across the room, but she's playing with fire saying stuff like that with people around who could easily hear her. He doubts either of them want the crew gossiping and questioning the whole chain-of-command just because of a one-night stand he's not entirely sure will even happen. She could be just playing with him, leading him on for fun and then flipping him off at the end of the night.

Doris grows impatient, deciding he needs a push. She moves one leg over the counter to lay down on her back, sprinkles a line of salt on her thigh, places a slice of lime between her breasts and grabs the bottle of tequila she brought with her. "Well? You gonna do it, or not?" She asks, holding up the bottle, challenging him. She's not letting this go.

Without saying a word, he gets off his chair for better reach, leans down and presses his tongue to her thigh, licking off the line of salt, forgetting his own restrictions for a short moment of intimacy with her. She grins as she pours a shot of liquor into her navel, splashing it all over her stomach, trying her damn hardest to hide the reaction his hot tongue on her skin brings out in her. He presses his tongue down harder on her thigh the higher he slides it, and when he moves up for the tequila shot and unnecessarily dips his tongue into her navel, she breathes harder, silently cursing herself for pooling up between her legs so fast over a body shot. She can feel his hand slowly running up her inner thigh as he moves to bite down on the slice of lime on her chest. She sighs and shifts in her place, dying to rake her fingers through his hair.

Shaundi stares at them with her eyes wide, trying her hardest to analyze the situation in her drunken mind that only lasts a few seconds. She has a theory about them, that they're sleeping with each other, or that they used to sleep with each other, or that they desperately need to bang each other's brains out, but for undisclosed reasons can't do it, and whatever's happening right before her very own eyes, it finally proves _something._

"Happy now?" Johnny asks in a low tone with his face over Doris'.

"Not until I get to do the same," she answers.

"If you think I'm gonna lie on a bar like a college girl with salt and booze all over me," he says, slightly snorting, "you better think again."

She gives him a wicked grin and three minutes later he's on the counter with a line of salt between his abs and a full shot glass on his chest, holding a slice of lime between his lips. He stares up at the ceiling. He has never felt sluttier than he does that moment and he's starting to see why people sometimes call him Doris' bitch. She climbs up on top of him with her legs on both sides, earning some loud cheering, and she purses her lips into her best teasing smile before diving down to lick the salt off his skin and down the shot of tequila into her mouth. She slams her hands on both sides of his head as she leans down to take the lime between her lips, slowly sucking and biting on it, very much pretending to kiss him before pulling it out of his mouth. People cheer even louder.

For the first time in his life, Johnny puts all of his willpower into stopping a natural reaction from happening. He's lying on a damn bar counter and the lights aren't dim enough to hide the hard-on he's so close to having. He has to race through every possible corny, unarousing thing in the book in his mind as she whips herself back up, still smiling at him and throwing the lime somewhere behind the bar. It certainly doesn't help how she briefly presses her hips down on his before she gets off him. He holds his breath with his jaw set. She's going to pay for that later.

 

* * *

 


	2. Am I who you think about in bed?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To celebrate 669 (nice) hits on the 1st chapter, I opened a bottle of wine and finished the 2nd chapter! I'm so sorry for the Boss' stripper story (jk I'm really not, I wrote half of this drunk and y'all just gotta live with it).

 

* * *

 

It's around two in the morning when Johnny settles into a hot tub by himself for a few minutes of peace and quiet down in the spa. Nobody's used the tub for a while and he thinks it's the perfect hiding place, as people seem to have forgotten about it with all the competitions they've got going on up at the club, right until a bunch of noisy girls pop up out of nowhere, quickly filling up the tub and surrounding him with their undeniably hot, bikini-clad bodies. He recognizes them to be workers from Tee'N'Ay, or Doris' stripper family, as he likes to call them. Pierce follows right behind them, pretty much looking like he won the holy lottery and has been granted access to the Seventh Heaven for one night with an entourage of beautiful, celestial beings. He seems to be in his element entertaining the girls, telling them all kinds of stories of the things the Saints have done during the past year, and Johnny's fine just sitting there as his quiet wingman, until Doris makes her loud entrance.

_"¡Queridas!"_ Her drunken shout echoes around the spa. Considering her intoxicated state, she squirms out of her dress with impressive skill while holding a glass of champagne in one hand. "I've been lookin' for you for, like, hours! Why's Pierce hoggin' all of you?" She asks as she directs an accusatory glare her lieutenant's way.

"We love him," one of the girls says, glued to Pierce's side, kissing his cheek.

"Can we have him?" Another girl asks.

Pierce flashes a humble grin. "Ladies, please—"

"For one night, yeah," Doris says, gracefully stumbling into the full hot tub, "but I'mma need him back tomorrow."

"We're gonna have so much fun with you," the girl next to Pierce says, grinning as she presses a finger to his chest to slowly trail it down below the water.

While the girls are concentrated on Pierce, Doris tilts her head at Johnny. There's no room in the tub and she needs a place to sit. "You look like a sturdy birthday throne," she announces as she drops down to his lap, without waiting to hear his opinion on the matter, spilling a bit of champagne into the bubbling water.

Johnny catches her, trying to stop her from dropping the whole glass and breaking it into the tub. He has to wrap his arm around her to keep her from sliding off his lap. Her bare, silky skin rubbing against his underwater, and the unnecessary movements of her hips, get him right back to the state she left him in on the bar counter earlier that night. He means to complain about her using him as a seat, for the sake of pretending like they haven't been flirting the whole night, but he grows hard painfully fast, pressing right between her buttocks through her bikini, and she's forced to take notice.

Doris bites down on her bottom lip, trying to keep in a breathy giggle, but failing, although it blends in with the girls around them giggling loud at whatever Pierce says. She holds onto Johnny's arm around her and takes her time grinding his cock slowly and as imperceptibly as possible.

"You know, I heard that rich kids somewhere in Europe book a suite and pay someone to pour expensive-ass champagne down the drain, just 'cause they fuckin' can," she says, interrupting Pierce's story, when she can feel Johnny pulsing against her. "You girls wanna try that out?"

One of them turns to Doris with a sweet, but persuasive smile. "Can we do that, and then pour the rest on Pierce and lick it off him?"

"Sure, baby," Doris reaches to touch the girl's cheek, "you can do whatever you want with him."

The girls jump out of the tub excitedly, some of them kissing Doris' face on their way out. All the finely shaped, glistening, thong-wearing bottoms rising out of the water in front of Johnny distract him for a moment, leaving him with appreciation for the life he's living.

"Yo, you comin' too, Boss?" Pierce asks as he's being pulled out of the tub.

"You go on ahead, I need to discuss somethin' with Gat," Doris says commendably casually.

"Okay, well, don't blame me if there ain't any champagne left when you come up."

"Just make sure the girls have fun," she says. "I'll catch you later."

"A'ight." Pierce stumbles out of the tub, catching up to the girls and wrapping his arms around two of them. "Yo, ladies, you got any nice shoes to model?"

"You think he's a shoe fetishist, or somethin'?" Doris asks, drunken and thoughtful, when they're left alone. "Or is he just, like, interested in shoe fashion?"

"You gonna move?" Johnny asks, like he's not still hard and aching to remove her bikini. He's also noticed Pierce sometimes paying more attention to what strippers are wearing, rather than their bodies, but he's not interested in the topic right now in the slightest.

"I'm good right here," she says as she settles into a more comfortable position on his lap, leaning her back into his chest.

"Yeah?"

She presses her back harder against him for a feel of his muscles. "I still can't believe how buff you got in jail," she says. "Did you just bench press other inmates all day long?"

"Didn't have much else to do," he says, shrugging.

"Well, God bless the correctional facilities of our great nation, then."

He decides to change the subject, since talking about his time in jail isn't exactly helping him maintain his hard-on. "So, when you worked as a stripper—"

"Pole dancer."

"—you never jumped out of a cake?"

She rolls her eyes. "No."

"You never even saw that happen?"

"No."

"Then why'd you even become a strip—"

"Pole dancer," she half-snaps at him to interrupt him again.

"You did striptease and gave your clients lap dances, right?"

"Well, yeah, but—"

"So, a stripper."

"Sounds like someone doesn't wanna get laid," she mutters into her glass, more or less straight about the goal of the game they've been playing all night. They had a similar discussion at her last birthday party, but it went very differently.

"Or maybe I'm lookin' to get punished," he says in a suggestive tone as his hands find their way to her hips.

"I could break this glass and jam it into your eye socket, if that's what you're lookin' for."

"Ooh, I'm gettin' all tingly here."

"Shut up, Johnny," she says and smacks his chest, giggling. "It's my birthday. I'm _la reina_ tonight and you're supposed to treat me accordingly."

"Ain't you always, though?"

"That's more like it."

"What's the weirdest shit you ever did?" He asks to keep the topic going.

She snorts. "Like I'm gonna tell you."

"What about now?" He asks as he runs his hands up her sides to cup her breasts for a slow massage, lips planting kisses from her shoulder to her neck, and up behind her ear.

She shivers at the feeling of his lips on her skin and his fingers teasing her nipples. In all honesty, she would tell him anything he wanted to know for the chance to have sex with him. "I had to, uh, dress up as a clown and, uh," she says and pauses because she starts giggling too hard to continue.

"Weirdly, I like where this is going," he says into her ear.

"I had to dress up as a sexy clown and pull a long-ass string of colorful handkerchiefs outta my—"

"Coochie? Please say coochie."

"It's so fuckin' funny now, but I almost quit that night," she says, still giggling. "The groom got super hard over it, though. Kinda nice of his friends to do that for him."

"Doe?" He asks as he keeps on kissing her neck.

"Yeah?"

"I wanna see it."

"No!"

"I need to see it. Please."

"No! What's wrong with you?"

"Why would you tell me about the dopest party trick I've ever heard of and then refuse to show it?"

"You think I carry a fuckin' clown suit with me?"

"You know, you _could_ stash some juggling balls in yo coochie and then pop 'em ou—"

"Oh, my God!" She yells. "You never shut your mouth when you really should, huh?"

Johnny laughs, clearly drunk. "Yo, lemme make a call and get you what you need."

"You're so fuckin' weird, I'm leavin'," she says, but as she tries to move off his lap, he refuses to let go and he pulls her back in. She barely manages to suppress the whimper pushing past her lips when she lands back down right on top of his hard-on.

"You sure you wanna go?" He asks next to her ear. "Thought you had somethin' to discuss with me."

"Actually, I wanted to ask if you carry a gun with you even into a hot tub, or if you're just really happy to see me?"

"Would have to be a pretty big gun, huh?"

"Maybe," she giggles as she grinds him a little, getting him to put his hands on her hips again and press his fingers into her skin.

"I'm startin' to think you chose to use my lap as your birthday throne on purpose," he says in a low voice.

She lifts her head so her lips brush against his jaw as she speaks. "Johnny, if I really wanted to use you as a throne, I'd be sittin' on your face."

"You think I'd just let you do that?"

"No," she trails kisses from his jaw to his ear, biting down on his earlobe, before she continues, "you're gonna beg me to do that."

His cock twitches between them, making her grind him harder. His hands leave her hips, running over the small bump of her stomach, and down to her thighs. She bites her teeth together, forcing herself to keep her legs together, too, as her first instinct turns out to be opening them up for him. Johnny wraps his fingers around the strings of her bikini bottom. She breathes harder as her pulse moves down to throb between her legs.

"I bet you're so wet I could just slip all the way inside you right now," he says, grinning a little.

"Oh, there you go, givin' yourself the credit you don't deserve," she says, breathing heavy, as she's too drunk to hide her arousal any longer.

He grins wider. One of the hottest things about her, hands down, is her pride, or more precisely, making her writhe in pleasure and still have her downplay what he can clearly do to her. "Pretty fuckin' bold of you to argue about this," he says. "Or did you forget I was right last time, too?"

"Johnny, I was so fuckin' trashed that night, I coulda fucked anyone," she replies. "It's pretty much just you claimin' we ended up in bed together. I mean, you weren't even there in the mornin'."

"You really sayin' I'm makin' it up?" He asks, sounding amused. "You sayin' I didn't make you cum three times? That you didn't beg me stop 'cause — and this is a straight quote — it felt _too good_?"

"Mm, sorry. Don't remember sayin' that." She finishes her champagne and sets the empty glass down on the edge of the tub. "Does it bruise your ego?"

"Dunno about my ego," he says as he grabs a tight hold of the front of her bikini bottom and pulls on the fabric, causing it to slip between her slit in one harsh movement, "but somethin' _is_ about to get bruised."

The sudden friction of the fabric pressing hard against her has her whimpering out loud. Her need to ride Johnny in the hot tub finally exceeds her need to torture him. Her head falls back against his shoulder as she rolls her hips into his as a silent command for him to continue. Johnny unties her bikini bottom and pulls it out of the way to press his fingers against her, skipping the teasingly slow massage he'd usually start with, because she's far beyond needing any warming up like that, and even if she did need it, she doesn't deserve it.

She grabs a hold of his hand underwater to move his fingers on the spot right above her clit to show him the way she wants to be pleasured. The second she lets go of his hand, his fingers begin rubbing her. Her lips part and she sighs, over and over again, biting down on her lower lip when a sigh turns into a moan that echoes too loud around the spa. Johnny turns his head and grabs a hold of her chin, touching her lips with his thumb, aching to smudge the shade of pink she's painted them with tonight.

He started thinking about kissing and touching and pleasuring Doris a while back. He didn't give room to thoughts like that for months, as he felt too guilty about it. Doing that required him to take his distance; he didn't stop being her friend, but he did avoid doing certain things, like flirting, looking at her half-naked body, letting her drag him to parties, or call him in the middle of the night for personal reasons. Acting colder toward her shouldn't have been as easy as it was. He didn't see how lonely she was until she had already done a bunch of stupid things to cope with it, and maybe to get his attention, even. He didn't hold the blame over her for Aisha's death for long, but he did keep acting like an ass for months. After all that, he didn't really expect her to let him touch her like this.

She moves a hand behind his neck, tangling her fingers in his hair and slightly pulling on the damp strands, as she slides her tongue along his jaw, something she wants to do nearly every time she pays attention to his jawline. His chest heaves and he moves his lips in closer to hers, and his fingers between her legs come to a halt.

"There's another rule," she suddenly says in a low voice, stopping him right as he's about to kiss her, "still no kissin'."

His brow furrows. "Wouldn't call that another rule."

"Really? You want me to come up with another thing to torture you with?"

"No," he hurries to say. "But still, that's just the first rule extended."

"Call it what you want. I ain't kissin' you tonight."

"Yeah?"

_"Sí."_

"You sure I can't change your mind?" He asks as he gets his hand moving between her legs again, sliding two fingers inside her, curling them up, looking for the right spot and how much pressure to apply to the wall his fingers press against.

"You still know how to use those fingers?"

"I dunno," he says. "Do I?"

She'd forgotten what his big fingers felt like inside her, curling up and rubbing against her perfectly slow, making her quiver in pleasure. She can't help opening up her legs and moving her hips forward for him. He fingers her faster until she twitches around his fingers. It's been nearly a year and nobody's managed to satisfy the constant, torturous state of arousal she's been in ever since she saw Johnny at the courthouse. She hates him for it.

"Should I make you cum this time?" He asks with his lips brushing against the shell of her ear. Last time he fingered her until he had her soaking wet and begging for release, but just to show her who was in charge, he didn't let her come.

"If you stop now," she says, panting, "I'll fuck the first guy I see and I'll make you watch."

"And what if I'd like that?"

She laughs. "That's for another night, honey."

He slides his hand under her bikini to cup her breast into his palm and licks her neck as he fingers her faster. She grabs a hold of the edge of the tub. She feels so overly delighted by having his fingers inside her again she lets out a moan, then another, her thighs shaking as pleasure keeps building up between them. He breathes hot air against her neck, switching from pumping his fingers in and out of her to rapidly moving them from side to side inside her, rubbing the spot that makes her press her nails too hard into the back of his neck.

"Since it's your birthday and all, I promise you I won't stop," he says. "Doesn't matter if someone walks in on us, I'll keep fingerin' you." He keeps adding speed until his wrist hurts and she's unable to control her moans. "I don't care how many people see us, I'm gonna keep makin' your pussy quiver 'til you cum."

He's barely finished the last word when she lets out a high-pitched moan and throws her head back against his shoulder — her whole body tenses up and her hips lift off his lap as she comes around his fingers hard. She manages to find his wrist with a shaky hand and grab a hold of it, clasping her knees together, riding his fingers for every last wave of the pleasure washing over her.

The water spills over the edges a few splashes more even after she's settled back down on Johnny's lap, heart still pounding wild in her chest and legs so weak she wouldn't be able to stand up if she tried. Not that she'd want to, though, with his hot breath tickling her neck, and his cock pinned between her back and his stomach.

"Holy shit," Doris breathes out slowly after regaining the ability to think in coherent words. "No one's made me cum that hard since—"

"Since I fucked you on your last birthday?" He cuts her off to finish her sentence while drawing lazy circles around her clit with his thumb. She can't see his smug grin, but she can definitely hear it.

"Yeah." She doesn't even try to deny it. Her hips are still shaking, and for once there's no reason to downplay Johnny's enormous self-confidence and ego. She's sure he could make her come hard enough to stop her heart.

"I told you you'd be back for more," he says, grinning wider. "The greedy slut in you didn't disappoint."

"The greedy slut in me? That's who I _am_ , Gat, get real," she replies, rolling her eyes, as she grabs a hold of the waistline of his swimming trunks to fully release his cock. She moves her hips up to guide it between her legs and she presses them together, trapping it between her soft inner thighs, stroking him against her with ease under the water.

"You like to get dirty talked into cummin', huh?"

"You got a filthy mouth on you," she says to compliment him.

"You know, I once talked a guy into comin' in his pants."

"I'd say that's impressive, but—"

"Took, like, three minutes. Four tops."

"A filthy, filthy mouth," she says, giggling and kissing his neck. She's still sensitive and his cock rubbing against her makes her moan into his skin.

"We need to get outta here," he says, looking over his shoulder when he hears some loud noise and people cheering. As lovely as her thighs are, and as lucky as he'd be to come between them, he's aching for her mouth and tongue and lips, hell, he's even aching to feel her teeth scraping against him again.

"No," she presses her thighs together harder, tighter around his cock, "I wanna fuck you right here—right now."

"You do as I say tonight." He takes her chin into his hand and forces her head to turn, locking their eyes. "That clear?"

"And if I don't?" She asks, acting like his attempt to dominate her isn't effective.

"You don't get to worship my dick," he says as he lets go of her chin.

She snorts. "Bitch, you're the one about to worship me."

"Yeah?"

She makes a sudden turn on his lap to face him and grab a sturdy hold of his chin, staring down at him with her eyes slightly narrowed. "On your hands and fuckin' knees," she says slowly in a voice that momentarily has him believe he has no other choice.

Despite of that, he stares right back up at her, unfaltering. "We're going to Purgatory."

"Why there?"

"'Cause I'm gonna fuck you on your big-ass marble desk."

"Seriously?" She asks, since it's clearly just something he wants to do to show power over her, to make her submit, and she's not too willing to let him know she likes the idea.

"Yo, don't try to tell me you got it for any other reason than to get fucked on it from behind like a slutty secretary."

She giggles as she lets go of him to grab her bikini bottom, moving to the other side and stepping out of the tub, blessing him with the sight of one more glistening bubble-butt, this time fully naked, rising out of the water. "We're _not_ playin' any roleplays."

"Come on."

"No."

 

* * *

 

Doris' driver nods and rolls up the tinted window between his seat and the passenger compartment of her limousine after receiving directions. She leans forward in her seat and reaches out to open a bar cabinet, but Johnny uses the opportunity to push her off the seat and pull her between his legs, forcing her down to her knees on the floor. She gives him a displeased glare. He pushes her fur coat off her shoulders and pulls the neckline of her dress down to reveal her bare breasts underneath.

"Get a room," she says dryly after a few seconds of watching Johnny admiring her chest.

"Naughty girls don't deserve that much effort."

She pouts at him. "They ain't naughty."

"No, but they gonna be when I cum on 'em," he says with a grin as he opens his belt with one hand and cups her breast with the other. They're small and round, and still fitting into his hands as perfectly as they did the first time. "Come here, angel."

"And here I hoped you forgot about that," she says, slightly frowning, but still letting him pull her in closer. A while back they figured out that they actually met about a year before she joined the Saints. Johnny watched her dancing one night when she was required to wear the tackiest possible outfit.

"You think I'll ever forget seein' you in li'l wings and a blonde wig, spinnin' around on a pole like you were descendin' down from the heavens?" He asks, amused. "Not a fuckin' chance."

She tries to hide her smile, but she's too drunk for that. "Dumbass."

"I'd be good with 'baby-boy,' you know."

"Oh?" Her smile turns into a small, wicked grin. Years ago, after Benjamin King called Johnny 'baby-boy' once, she found it so funny that she began calling Johnny that when she wanted to get on his nerves, or when she wanted to flirt with him. She can't remember the last time she did it. Most likely before what happened to Aisha.

"I'm just sayin'."

"Guess we'll have to wait and see what I moan while I sit on your face."

He exhales through his nose, impatient, releasing his hard cock from his pants, grabbing her hands, moving them up to hold the sides of her breasts and setting his cock between them. He presses her breasts together, sighing at the warmth and thrusting his hips up a few times. Even though her breasts aren't large enough to fully surround him, it's still arousing as hell.

She silently prays that she manages to keep her face neutral as Johnny leans back on his seat to let her do the work, and she gives the head of his cock a teasing lick, refusing to show him any indication on how many times she's thought about doing it. Every time she strokes him down between her breasts and his cock gets close enough to her mouth, she kisses and licks it, aching to take him into her mouth, to make him moan, and feel his hot cum on her face and chest.

After a while, Johnny moves a hand up to her cheek, touching her lips with his thumb and slipping it into her mouth. "I want my cock in that beautiful mouth of yours," he says, a little out of breath.

She looks up at him as she sucks on his finger, before the hold of her breasts around his cock eases up and she moves back slightly. She has no patience to start teasing him, as she's tortured herself by thinking about blowing him hundreds of times during the past months, and the ride to Purgatory isn't that long, anyway. She wraps both hands around his cock and her lips around the head, sucking it in, pulling a deep, shaky moan out of Johnny's throat. She smiles with her lips around him, because judging by the moan, he wouldn't be able to take much teasing, and he definitely won't last until they get to Purgatory.

He leans his head back. His stomach trembles over the deep breaths he draws as her hands stroke him. She tilts her head and her hot tongue curls around him and the tip of his cock rubs into the soft inside of her cheek. He moves his hand to the back of her neck, sliding his fingers in her hair. She bops her head slowly, lips tight around him, leaving smudges of lipstick on his skin.

"Careful," he says as the car hits a bump on the road, and he feels her teeth on him. He lets his head drop against his shoulder to see her face.

She gives him a defying look from under her lashes, gliding her teeth down his cock an inch more. Then, to his surprise, she switches her concentration back to sucking and stroking him.

"You ain't even tryna fight me, huh?" He asks, stroking her hair. "Is it 'cause no one's dominated you since the last time I did?"

She sighs as she releases him from her mouth. "None of your damn business," she says, straight away sucking the head of his cock back into her mouth a little too rough.

"You love it, don't you?" He continues, pausing for a groan as her hand slips into his underwear for added stimulation. "Bein' the leader of the biggest crew in the city you practically own, bossin' people around all day long, bein' ruthless to everyone who crosses you, and still knowin' that none of 'em would ever fuckin' dare imagine you on your knees like this, suckin' off your first lieutenant?"

She pulls away again and looks up at him with her lips pursed. "Okay, rule number tw—"

Johnny slaps her cheek, and she gasps, her head turned to the side. She stares at the empty leather seat with her eyes wide and her lips parted, pressing her nails hard into his thigh through his pants. Her cheek burns.

"You were just waitin' for that," he says in a low, smug tone.

"Do it again," she says.

"What was that?"

She turns to face him with narrowed eyes, and just as she opens her mouth to tell him that he _fuckin' heard her_ , his palm hits her on the same cheek, much harder this time, sending her down to her hands and knees to his feet. She gasps and laughs at the same time, now, holding her cheek, pressing her thighs together. The pain has tears forming in her eyes and her body shakes with the deep breaths she draws and she hasn't been so aroused in years. If she hadn't had an orgasm ten minutes earlier, chances are he could bring her into having one just by slapping various parts of her body.

Johnny pulls her back up between his knees, raking his fingers through her hair before grabbing a handful of it and yanking her head back. One of his rings left a red scratch over her cheekbone. She looks alluring in the purple glow of the limousine's faint lights.

"Now, get back to it," he says. "Unless you want me to fuck your mouth like last time, you better be swallowin' by the time we reach Purgatory."

 

* * *

 


	3. When the lights are dim and your hands are shaking...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I predicted, I couldn't stop rambling and three chapters turned into four 🤷♀️ Sorry guys, it's been way too long since my last update on this fic and I'm adding an explanation to the end for anyone interested.

* * *

 

"Get the fuck outta here!" Johnny yells at a group of crew members hurrying their way to the elevator, leaving behind jackets and unfinished drinks to escape his sudden, irrational wrath. "And if any of you come back before mornin', I'm gonna personally kill 'em myself!"

The last two guys sprint around the corner to get out of his sight. Doris giggles behind him and spins around on her chair. She finishes a can of soda she grabbed from the limousine for a quick boost of energy and throws it into a trashcan. The can hits nowhere near where she aimed it.

Johnny turns to look at her as she climbs up on her desk to lay down on it, pushing off some papers and an ashtray over the edge. "What's funny?"

"Nothin'." She twirls a lock of pink hair around her finger, swinging her legs, watching him from under her lashes. "I could listen to you threatenin' people all day."

"Yeah? Does it turn you on?" he asks as he closes the glass door behind him and walks up to the desk. He touches her shoulder and runs his warm hand down her back.

"Uh-huh."

"What about me beatin' people up?"

"After threatenin' 'em first?" She rolls around to lie on her back and grabs the collar of his jacket to pull him a little closer. "I'm pretty much ready to cum."

"So, you just walk around wet, like, half the time?"

She smiles in a way that tells him he will never get an answer to his question. "Dance for me on the pole," she says as she runs her hand down his chest to grip her fingers around his belt.

He raises an eyebrow. "I don't think you wanna see that."

"It's my birthday."

"Look, I ain't here to turn you off."

"You did fine strippin' your clothes off before." Her fingers run to the buckle of his belt to play with it, but not undo it. "Just add a pole routine to it."

"Maybe you should show me how it's done," he says as he slides his hand down from her stomach to stroke her thigh.

She scoffs. "You say that like you haven't seen about fifteen hundred pole routines."

"But you work the pole better than anyone."

"Bitch please, you've seen better," she says, laughing at how hard he's still trying to please her by saying things he thinks she wants to hear, even though there's no way he wouldn't get laid tonight.

"Haven't."

"You seriously imply that girls who've spent ten years practicin' aren't better?"

He leans down closer to her as his hand slips under her dress. "Maybe they know more stuff, but they ain't you," he insists, his voice dropping to a pleasant murmur.

She shrugs a little with a subtle smirk playing on her lips. "Can't argue with that."

"They don't take down street gangs like they were born to do it," he continues, tracing the outlines of her underwear. "They don't blackmail and outplay their enemies for their own amusement," his fingers move to slowly massage her through the fabric, "and they definitely don't run a whole damn city."

"I'm startin' to think you have a kink for powerful women," she giggles.

"Nah," he presses his fingers down at her entrance until her underwear won't give in any more, "just you."

She suppresses a moan. He knows far too well what to say, how to say it, when to say it. She lets herself believe she falls for his words only because she's drunk enough to do it. "You know what," she says as she sits up, grabs a hold of the collar of his jacket and pulls her chair closer, pushing him down to sit on it. She has an idea that doesn't include Johnny tearing her dress apart — again. She wants to wear it more than once this time. "Get comfortable and gimme a minute."

"Yo, where you going?" he asks, trying to grab a hold of her wrist to keep her from leaving, but she's surprisingly fast dropping off the desk and rushing to the door.

"Just stay right there!"

"Bailin' out on me ain't too sexy of you!" he yells after her while checking he still has his wallet, rightfully suspicious as he's well aware of how she loves to deceive men; once, years back, she only meant to steal a man's wallet, but he ended up pissing her off so bad that she took his clothes, too, and left him naked in a Freckle Bitch's restroom. She threw the man's clothes and emptied wallet out of the car window on a highway, and Johnny couldn't stop laughing that night. Everything about it was too hilarious to him.

He removes his jacket while waiting and throws it out of the way somewhere behind him. After a few minutes, he sighs impatiently and starts spinning around on the chair, planning to get up and go check on her, or if she's even in the building any longer, but then he hears the door opening. He spins around to face her, stopping the chair by slamming his heel down on the floor. "That took so much longer than a min—"

"I'm terribly sorry, mister Gat," she interrupts him in a husky tone, suppressing a drunken giggle and leaning against the doorframe in the most exaggeratedly seductive pose he's ever seen. The dress he bought for her is gone, replaced by a white button-up shirt and a pleated mini skirt. "I didn't mean to keep you waiting."

"I thought you said there ain't gonna be no roleplayin'," he says, eyeing her up as he sits back on the chair; her shirt is unbuttoned half-way down, the sleeves are rolled up to her elbows, and a short tie rests between her half-exposed breasts. There's a garter belt under her skirt holding up a pair of stockings, and to top off the look, she's standing on platform heels, or in other words, stripper shoes.

"Have you noticed how terribly clumsy all the men in the office seem to be?" she asks as she closes the door behind her, clearly ignoring him. "I mean, every time I leave my desk, I'm always picking up things off the floor for them."

"It probably has nothin' to do with that skirt you're wearin', miss," he says with an amused grin on his face.

"It's truly a mystery," she says, gathering up her hair into a loose bun on top of her head. "Would you like a drink?"

"Sure."

She grabs a glass and a bottle of whiskey from a sideboard, filling up the glass on her way to him. "Here you go," she says with a smile as she hands him the glass and sits down on the edge of the desk, setting the bottle down next to her. Then she pulls a small notepad and a pen out of her bra. "Now, we should go through today's schedule."

"I see you got my lunch ready for me," he says as he runs his hands up her legs to push her thighs apart.

She slaps his hands away and uses her foot to push him back by his shoulder. "It isn't lunch time yet," she says, pulling her leg back when he tries to kiss her ankle. "Like I said, we need to go through your schedule for the day."

"I'm sure you can do that while I—"

"Before lunch you have a board meeting and after that a meeting with the Mayor," she interrupts him, "and later today a talk-show appearance discussing your recent award."

"I'm a big shot, huh?" he asks as he settles for staring at the black lace of her bra peeking out from under her shirt.

"You could say that," she says and gives him a long glance while biting the tip of the pen.

"So, I call you a powerful woman and you're so damn stubborn you gotta act the exact opposite?" He grins while lazily swirling the whiskey around in his glass. "Just can't help yourself, huh?"

"Watch it."

"Or maybe this is your kink?" he continues despite of her clear warning. "Finally havin' the chance to be submissive?"

"Okay, so," she pulls out one her cell phones from a drawer next to her to show him how done she is with him for disrupting the roleplay, "I'mma call someone here to fuck me and all you gonna do tonight is watch."

"I'm just teasin' ya," he laughs. "Put the phone away, baby."

"I told you earlier," she says simply as she keeps scrolling through the list of contacts, "but you never listen."

"Doe, c'mon."

"You really thought I wouldn't do it?"

"Yo, don't get me wrong, I'd love to watch you get fucked," he says, touching her thigh and running his fingers along the strap holding her stocking up, "but this birthday thing—it's special. We shouldn't mix other people into it."

"You realize I could do this 'special birthday thing' with a fuckload of other people, right?"

"Please?"

She purses her lips at him disapprovingly, but she drops the phone back into the drawer and kicks it shut. Then she picks up the notepad and pen again, clearing her throat. "Oh, and your wife called to let you know she has to skip dinner 'cause of an emergency session with her private yoga instructor — for the third time this week," she says, switching back into her role. "May I assume she's enjoying her classes?"

"Maybe a li'l too much."

"Whatever could you mean by that?"

"Well, you see—"

She cuts him short by moving one leg over the other and knocking the glass in his hand over, spilling whiskey on his shirt. "Oh, I'm so sorry, mister Gat!" she yelps, pulling a box of tissues out of a drawer and rushing to dry off his shirt. "Look at me, calling people clumsy and then ruining my boss's shirt like this."

"It's fine—"

She knocks the glass over again, making sure the rest of the liquor spills on his pants, leaving a stain right next to his crotch. "Oh no, not again! Here I go, ruining your pants, too!" She drops down to her knees with a clean tissue in her hand. "Here, let me."

"If you insist, miss," he says, holding back a laugh.

"What were you saying about your wife?" she asks as she concentrates on stroking him through his pants, rather than drying them off. She holds back a grin when she notices him growing hard fast with her fingers running along his shaft.

"It was nothin' important, really."

"Are you sure?" She holds him harder through his pants, stroking him up and down. "You know you can always confide in me, because whatever happens in your office," she pauses to look up at his eyes, "stays in your office."

His cock twitches against her fingers. He resists the urge to pull her up to his lap and just have her ride him, as he's still curious to see how she plans to tease him. "Is that so?"

"Let me pour you another drink," she says as she gets back up on her feet to get the bottle. Then she turns to him and pours whiskey on her chest straight out of it. "Oh, shoot! I can't believe this!"

Johnny can't hold his drunken laughter in anymore. He reaches out to take the bottle from her and hide it under the desk. "Rule number two: stop wastin' expensive-ass booze," he says. "That bottle's like, what, three hundred bucks?"

She looks worried. "Will that go from my paycheck?"

"I'm sure we can figure somethin' out."

"This is so embarrassing," she says as she holds a hand over her mouth, pretending to be flustered. Her black bra is now visible through the soaked fabric of her shirt. "I can't believe I did this to my clothes, too."

"Yeah, what are the chances?" he asks with his arms spread. The chances are, in fact, very high when re-acting every other adult film in existence.

"I know this is highly unprofessional and so inappropriate, but do you mind if I take them off here in your office to let them dry?"

"Not at all."

She walks behind him while running the tips of her fingers along his jawline and the tattoo on his neck. Her hand disappears, the lights in the office turn off, and after a few seconds music starts playing. Johnny's prayers are answered when she sways her way to the pole in the office, wraps her fingers around it one by one while circling around it, then bending down a little and running her free hand up the back of her thigh, lifting her skirt up to give him a quick peek at her black thong and bare buttocks. She climbs up the pole, twisting her body into impossible, sensual poses, and when the beat drops in the song, she drops down into a front split on the floor.

"Just a quick side note," he says over the music, catching her attention, "but even if you break both of your legs, I'm still gonna fuck you before I take you to the hospital."

She laughs and her hand slips on the pole a little as she pulls herself up. "God, you're awful."

"You love it."

Doris gives him an amused smile before she climbs up the pole again and sheds off the skirt around her hips, followed by the whiskey-stained shirt. She gives him time to admire her tattooed, lingerie-clad body, softly illuminated by the purple lights downstairs. She begins to spin around on the pole slowly while unclasping the straps from her stockings, dropping upside down with the pole between her thighs to skillfully remove the garter belt.

Johnny would unzip his pants and stroke himself, if he weren't so damn unsure about being able to hold it, that he wouldn't reach an orgasm in about ten seconds. He's sometimes caught her practicing in the middle of the night with nobody else around when she's been too stressed out to sleep. It's impossible to count all the times during the last few months he's thought about being lucky enough to receive a private show from her, in her office, while sitting on the chair nobody, except for her, is allowed to sit on.

He runs his fingers through his hair and reaches for the bottle of whiskey to pour himself another drink, and to give his hands something to do, as she moves down to the floor to turn her back to him, teasingly removing her bra and dropping it to the floor. She makes her way back to the pole without letting him see her breasts, dragging on her teasing factor to a maddening length, until she impresses him by stretching into another split with her legs spread along the pole, letting her body spin around with it for a few laps. Near the end of the song she drops to the floor, now only wearing the tie, thong, stockings and shoes, lying on her stomach with the pole between her thighs, bending one knee to push her hips off the floor and back down, repeating the motion in sync with the music a few times, until the song ends. Then she rolls around on her back, laying her arms over her head and turning to glance at him.

"You know, it's rude to stare at a lady undressing," she says, soft and low, after her breath has somewhat settled.

"The whole office knows you ain't no lady," he answers just as low, making her giggle. "Get over here."

"Honestly, I think I'm too drunk and outta breath to get up with these shoes right now," she giggles more and moves her hands down to open the straps around her ankles.

"Don't take 'em off," he says as he finishes his whiskey, places the empty glass on the desk and moves off his seat to walk up to her and offer her a hand.

She purses her lips into a smile and takes his hand, and he pulls her up with ease, pushing her against the pole the second she's on her feet. He ghosts his lips over hers — she's much taller with the platforms than her usual high heels — and he presses his hard-on to her thigh, taking a moment to play with the idea of kissing her, just to see how she would react.

"I will drag you up to the roof and throw you off this buildin'," she whispers her warning with her hot breath tickling his lips.

He chuckles and leans further down to kiss her neck. "How about I skip the meetings and have an early lunch?"

"As for the future of this company, that'd be highly irresponsible of you," she says as she loosens her tie, takes it off and wraps it around his neck to pull him with her as she walks backwards towards the desk, "and as your secretary, I can't recommend it."

"I'm starvin', though," he says, pouting and pinning her between his body and the desk. "This can't be good for my health."

"Sir, you just had whiskey for breakfast," she notes.

"Which is, if I may say, very irresponsible of _you_ , miss Moreno," he claims while his hands feel her body; fingers running up her arms, hot tips tracing biceps and tattoos and clavicles on their way down to her chest, and palms cupping her breasts just a little too roughly.

"Care to elaborate?"

"Ain't you supposed to make sure I'm well taken care of in all aspects?"

"This might come as a surprise for you, but I'm not your mother, nor your wife."

"You made that extremely clear, don't worry your pretty li'l head 'bout it."

"My pretty little he—oh, God," she gasps softly as her knees give in a little under her when he moves his hand into her underwear.

"Yea, I've been told I can make people see God," he says with all the shameless conceit he could possibly muster into his voice.

"Oh, fuck you, Johnny," she sighs half out of annoyance, half out of pleasure.

"You're so fuckin' wet and I've barely even touched you," he says with his breath growing heavier, pulling his fingers out to slide them over her clit and back inside her. "I wanna eat you out so bad right now."

She pulls him down to the desk with her by the tie still around his neck. "Oh, I bet you do, baby-boy," she laughs into his ear as she slips out of her role for a moment. "I bet you're fuckin' dyin' to have me sit on my birthday throne."

 

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope y'all liked this chapter! Here's long story short: I've spent the past few months mourning my parent passing away unexpectedly and I wasn't up for writing explicit stuff. This is really personal, but I have wonderful readers leaving me kudos and lovely comments, and I felt bad about not updating this fic for half a year. I really wish ao3 gave us the option to leave status updates on our profile or something for stuff like this. It sucks to just disappear :/ Anyway, I'm better now and ready to get nasty again! I'll post the last chapter asap!


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